The Prodigal Returns
by ookamiblitz
Summary: Absintheshipping. A sequel to "Hard Luck Man." Grimsley and Burgh parted a decade ago on good terms, but now that time has passed, they are unsure how to proceed. Together, they were begin to understand the meaning of "the more things change, the more they stay the same." M for language, drug/alcohol/tobacco use, and sexual content.


[Author's Note: This is a sequel to "Hard Luck Man," the Grimsley/Burgh fic I wrote over a year ago. Although I obviously cannot tell you how to live your life, it is basically essential reading to get the full effect of this piece.]

** Chapter One:**

**Absinthe Nightmares**

TO MOST, the inability to pay for a night out would be mortifying. First, the customer would be filled with dread, followed by a deep embarrassment and shame. Luckily for him, Grimsley had no shame and plenty of experience dealing with unsatisfied bouncers. On this chilly spring night, he found himself standing before four-hundred pounds of hired muscle. Heels balancing on the curb, he tried to explain himself.

"In all honesty, fellas, I just forgot my credit card, and being who I am, I don't keep cash. You do know who I am, don't you?" He popped his collar and flashed a smile at the men. Both looked down at him as if he were just another rat racing through the gutters.

"I can't say I do," one of them replied. "What about you Louie?"

He shook his head. Grimsley groaned.

"Come on guys," he pleaded, pointing to his face. "_Grimsley Stygian_, of the Unova Elite Four. I'm ranked _third_ in the region. I'm good for the money. Scout's honor."

"Neither of us follow competitive battling," one of the bouncers replied, taking a step to the side to let his silent friend in front of him. "And that doesn't excuse you. Now are you going to pay, or do we need to empty your pockets for you?" Grimsley felt a large hand grasp at the front of his shirt, twisting a section of his favorite yellow scarf in its palm.

He narrowed his eyes at the thug. "Hey guy, easy on the scarf. It was a gift from a friend."

"Make me."

Grimsley's hand slipped behind him and into the pocket of his jacket. A flash lit up the darkened street, and the bouncer was thrown backwards into his cohort. Grimsley wobbled for a moment after jumping back, trying to find his footing on a patch of black ice. His faithful Liepard stood with her back end to him, hunched over and growling at those who dared to harm her master. The bouncers scrambled to their feet, trying to push past the Pokemon to get at the man who had just robbed their establishment.

"Liepard, Hyper Voice!" Grimsley shouted, shuffling backwards. His partner obeyed, letting out a shrill scream. The bouncers stopped and clasped their hands to their ears. The sound gnawed at their ears and burrowed into their heads. Though he was used to it, Grimsley also pressed his palms to his ears and bit his lip.

"Okay sweetheart, let's bolt," he shouted as the men fell to their knees. Liepard spun around and jumped to her master's side, and together the two began to sprint down the street towards a friendlier section of Virbank City, where people still wandered about the sidewalks and the street lamps sparkled.

Grimsley was a man who, since youth, always felt the need to test his luck. As he walked along storefronts and through crowds of smiling youths, his eyes wandered towards technicolor clubs and open bars. This was a night to push that luck of his to the edge. He spotted a place, a modern, quiet bar a bit more low-key than the last establishment, and commanded his legs, now wobbly from the shots he had taken earlier, in its direction.

A lime-colored light bathed him as he passed through the doors. His fingertips slid across tables of brushed nickel as he glided towards the bar, icy eyes sizing up the beautiful young men and women as they talked over the music and played with their drinks. Silently, he rated them on his own complex scale. Through the brunette sitting in the corner was only of average beauty, she would be far more willing to go back to his hotel than the modern-day Adonis who only had eyes for his date. He contemplated going over to her, taking the empty seat beside her and pouring on the charm, but a lady at the bar drew him to her like a magnet. He could feel sparks between them already, powering the thought within him that tonight may just end well after all.

He leaned against the bar and cleared his throat, addressing the back of her head. "Hey sweetheart, you look like the kind of girl who's heard every line in the book..." The woman knew what she was hearing the moment he parted his lips to speak. She spun around on her barstool, her disgusted stare meeting him. Her large eyes were like glass, cutting him, forcing him to remember the face that surrounded them. Grimsley knew that face well. He had seen it on talk shows, within the glossy pages of every major magazine, in stupid commercials, and, most predominately, in his memories. They met in the same manner eleven years previously, before either had grown into their ambitions and carved out their careers. He should have been happy. This was Elesa, his old friend from his dearly-held youth, but her presence left him stuck and only able to finish his sentence in a grumble, "...so what's one more?"

As a result of her immense fortune with beauty, she had changed little in the time they had been apart. She still had a face of stone, like a statue preserved for all to see. Her blue eyes buzzed with intensity as her features softened. She gave him a wry smile, silently scrutinizing his appearance as she did with all people.

"Grimsley, what in God's name are you doing here?"

"I'm on vacation," he replied, grabbing a seat next to her and gesturing to the bartender for a drink. "I heard they had a good club scene here. What about you? You're a long way from Nimbasa City."

"The tournament in Driftveil," she said. "I've got to compete, but I couldn't stick around there much longer. It's a pretty place, but it's just not my style."

"Tournament?" he asked, smoothing a stray hair back into place. "What tournament can _make_ the great electric Elesa compete when she doesn't want to?"

"The one that determines which Gym Leaders get to keep their job," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "You did know about the tournament, right?"

"I guess it slipped my mind," he said, shrugging, trying to recall what exactly the League regulations were. He knew they had changed recently with the construction of the World Tournament Stadium, but he hadn't paid attention. Elite Four members were not subject to the same rules as Gym Leaders. "Besides, I'm allergic to work when I'm on vacation."

There was a long pause that slowly filled with the invisible essence that held them together. They had not become friends on their own. In fact, if it were not for the efforts of another, Elesa would have nothing but animosity for Grimsley. As the seconds ticked by, as they laughed, awkwardly, idly and sipped at their drinks, that third party needed to be addressed. Elesa, being far braver than Grimsley, was the one to bring him up.

"Burgh's here, you know?" she remarked. "He and I decided to take a tour of the movie studio and soak in the sights before the tournament begins next week."

Grimsley did not respond at first. The name sent an arrow through his belly. He looked down at the yellow fabric draped at his neck and lifted a hand to touch it. That scarf was the last object he owned to know the touch of that man. It was a shrine he could wear, reminding him of that wonderful summer all those years ago. He didn't know how he felt about reintroducing himself to the man it was a testament to. So far, he had been happy to watch him from afar, and Grimsley knew that it was much safer for him to just not think about it. Unsure how to respond, he mumbled, "Yeah, you two have always been joined at the hip, huh."

"Why don't you go see him?" she insisted. "He's back at the hotel working on a painting he thought up on the ferry ride here. He hasn't changed a bit."

Somehow, that just made him even more uneasy.

"No, it's really..." Grimsley began. "I wouldn't want to interrupt him, or, you know, shock him."

"Yeah, it's a shock," she said. Elesa sensed his apprehension, and he wondered how much she had known and how much she thought she knew about him and Burgh. She was Burgh's best friend and sure to know every intimate detail of his life, but even Grimsley could not figure out what had gone on between them with more than a decade to think about it, even though he thought about it more as the years went on and his nights were less about bringing impressionable boys and girls home and more about sitting alone in the dark.

Elesa could see that. She too was hovering around thirty; she too was beginning to know the loneliness of longing for the past. She spoke softly. "I'm sure he'd like to see _you_."

Grimsley laughed it away. "Who wouldn't?"

Elesa sighed. She was well versed in Grimsley-_ese_. There was no pushing him to do anything once he rose above to laugh at it. Perhaps, she thought, he would come around with the influence of alcohol. Inside her head, hidden beneath a cascade of long black hair, a plan cobbled itself together.

She smiled like a Gengar. "You know what Grimsley, let's not think of past," she said, gesturing for the bartender to come. "Let's get wasted and let it go." Slowly, she parted her legs, grazing her bare kneecap against his thigh. Mouth falling open in disbelief, he ran his eyes down her neck, past the short yellow dress that bound her torso, and to her uncovered legs beside him. Still smiling, he could tell that this was no accident. She looked him dead in the eyes. "I want to hear about what the great and powerful Grimsley Stygian has been up to all these years."

He beamed and gave his order to the barkeep. "Two glasses of Absinthe for me and the lady."

* * *

"Take one for the team, Elesa. You're doing this for your best friend. Just don't let him touch you..."

In the backseat of the taxi cab, Grimsley wrapped an arm around her waist and set his free hand on her thigh. Quickly, she brushed it aside and gently placed a hand on his cheek. His face felt warm beneath her hand. He was much more drunk than she needed him to be.

"Darling, wait until we get to the hotel," she pleaded softly, trying to sound warm. "I don't want to give the driver a show."

He pouted. "If you insist, m'lady."

Grimsley practically chased her through the corridors of the hotel. By the time she got to her door and struggled with the card key, he had grabbed her from behind, holding his face against her neck. Elesa realized that this plan was completely falling apart. She had forgotten how _difficult_ he became after a few drinks. This would not end well, and this was going to look horrible on her part. As she pushed open the door, she amended her plan.

Burgh sat cross legged on the suite's table, squinting in the lamplight at an easel. During the day, he had slowly filled it with colors inspired by their sea-trip that morning. It was a scene of proto-serenity with white-capped waves reaching out to a cloudless indigo sky that was not quite yet formed. He had been there at that moment, when Grimsley, as drunk as the night is dark, clambered in after Elesa and slammed the door behind him, dissolving that moment he had worked so hard to craft.

To both men, the moment their gazes met from across the room was like a cold winter rain. Grimsley stepped back a bit; Burgh carefully set down his paintbrush. They stopped breathing, mimicking the past they both thought had died long ago. Then, it all fell upon them at once, a downpour of shame, of longing, of pain and regret, and, in Burgh's case, joy.

"You're kidding me," he mumbled, sliding off of the table. "That's not you, is it Grimsley?"

"Uh," he gasped, unsure what to do. Burgh's smile faded as his attention fell to Grimsley's white hands around Elesa's middle. Quickly, Elesa elbowed him in the chest and broke away.

"Hey, I told you that you could sleep it off here, not _get off_ here," she shouted, standing a little behind Burgh. Luckily for her act, Grimsley had disheveled her hair and pulled her jacket down one of her arms. "God, help me out Burgh. The man can't keep his eyes off of me."

"What?" Burgh asked, throwing his hands up, then glaring at Grimsley. "You mean to tell me after ten years he still can't keep his hands to himself."

"No, no, no, no, no," Grimsley said, directing a wobbly pointer finger at Elesa. "She's lying. She came on to _me_."

"Ew, never!" she shrieked. "Just because I was trying to help you doesn't mean I want to _screw_ you."

"Calm down," Burgh said, stepping between the two of them. "_Explain_."

"I found him plastered at the bar," Elesa lied. "He said his hotel was across town and he didn't have cab fare, so I told him he could crash with us tonight, but you know how he gets..."

"Of course," Burgh sighed. He looked over to Grimsley who held himself upright against the wall. He looked like the same pathetic boy he rescued from the gutter eleven summers before, now all grown up. He felt pity he knew he should stifle. "And what's your take?"

Grimsley let out a short chuckle. "She wants me."

"As if Dracula," she rebuffed, turning on her heel and heading back towards the bedroom. Grimsley stepped forward and stumbled a bit before Burgh reached his arm out to hold him back.

"Leave her alone," he warned softly. "Why don't you just take a seat. You look like hell."

Grimsley obeyed, unsure of what it was in Burgh's voice that made him stop. Carefully, he was led to the couch. He sat back, feeling his head spin and time slip away in his stupor. At some point, a cup of coffee was set before him, its clatter against the coffee table like a blade in his brain. He leaned forward, stopping for a moment to catch his breath and to quell the dizziness, before taking a small sip. In his peripheral, he could see Burgh beside him, quietly drinking his own cup.

"This is a goddamn nightmare," Grimsley muttered to himself.

"It's good to see you too," Burgh mumbled back.

* * *

For a moment, as the sunlight hit him and a cold breeze came through the window, Grimsley thought he was back in his hotel, but the scent of cinnamon and the last vestiges of another man's cologne forced him to recall the night before. Spaces of it were just gone, as if someone had taken a marker and blacked those sections out. He remembered fighting some men, then the silky touch of a raven-haired beauty in the bar, and finally the scorching softness of a hot cup of coffee. Then, there was Burgh who draped a soft blanket over him and put him to bed.

In his back pocket, his phone buzzed, alerting him that life had gone on while he had been away. Caitlin wanted to know how his trip was going. Marshal found his credit card in the lounge back home. Grimsley didn't want to respond to either of them quite yet, not until this all began to sink in.

For all his planning, he did not expect to run into Elesa and Burgh on his vacation. A year before, he tried unsuccessfully to confront his past. He made it to the Castelia Gym's doors before he resigned himself to fate. Yes, some days it haunted him. Some days he wished he could be nineteen again and relive that summer and remake some decisions. Some days he wished he never left Castelia at that moment in his life, and some days he wished that at twenty-nine he would have just knocked on those Gym doors and thanked Burgh for everything he had done for him.

He had always been a coward, and no amount of sunshine could burn away that fact.

Grimsley rolled away from the couch and searched quietly for a bathroom. He wanted to leave quickly, just as soon as he fixed his hair. Once he stood, Grimsley saw him, hunched over his easel, long hair clipped back, deepening a great blue sea. He gripped a shrinking cigarette between his clenched teeth.

"Oh, you're awake," he greeted, flipping the paintbrush over and dropping it in a cup. Quickly, Burgh spun around and stamped the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Grimsley recalled him as a morning person, and from the fresh smile on his face, that still appeared to be the case. "How about breakfast? You look like you could use a bite to eat."

"No, it's fine really," Grimsley replied. "I should probably just get going…"

"Oh come on," Burgh insisted. "I'd like to catch up."

"I'll pass. I don't have cash on me anyway."

"I don't mind paying for you."

Grimsley gave him the slightest of sneers. "I don't want to owe you."

Burgh narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "You already do." He leaned forward as Grimsley turned his face away, forcing the man to listen. "I want to know where you've been. After you finished the League Challenge and left for Sinnoh, you just stopped calling. I was worried about you. Sometimes it kept me up at night." He paused, rethinking his tone. "I'm not mad or anything; I just want to see how my old friend is doing after all these years. That's all."

Grimsley couldn't be sure if the sensation in his stomach was a weight being lifted or a worry bearing down on him. Burgh didn't have an angry bone in his body. He wasn't even born with one. It only made Grimsley feel more guilty. Here he stood before the most patient man in the world, a man who seemed to be welcoming him back with open arms, and he still wanted to run away, or at least keep him at arms length as he did with every other person he called "friend."

Guilt, which had stunned him to silence just a year before, now motivated him to shuffle past Burgh towards a bathroom and a bar of soap. If he was going to do this, he was not going to look like a dirty mop. He at least needed to put his hair up.

"Fine," he grumbled, still not sure how to feel, "it's a date."


End file.
